


A Weekend

by greenbucket



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbucket/pseuds/greenbucket
Summary: A weekend in the life of Lardo, Ransom, Holster, and Shitty.
Relationships: Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21
Collections: Polya Epifest 2019





	A Weekend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirani/gifts).



On Friday evening, Lardo walks up their street double-speed, the getting-into-winter chill already setting in for the night and creeping into every gap between clothing items. She wants to be wearing a warm, snuggly onesie so, _so_ bad.

It’s later than she’d like, too, since just as they were about to close up shop Martin managed to drop an entire bucket of soapy water on the floor and it had taken approximately forever to clean up. So Lardo’s not like, stressed, per se, but she’s a little more on edge and grouchy than she’d been hoping to be feeling. She’s also fucking starving and really needs to pee.

Inside, the house isn’t exactly warm – too sparsely furnished and drafty for that yet – but it’s a fuckton warmer than outside. Unravelling her scarf and considering whether or not to pull off her beanie is a process that seems to take five times longer than usual. She just wants a cool glass of water, followed by a hot cup of tea, followed by her boyfriends suffocating her on the couch for a bit before they all pass out.

“Hey?” she calls out into Haus 2.0 at large. Lardo can smell food and hear jock-sounds, so she knows it’s not just her and Erin in like it is some nights, but she wants to ensure the most efficient journey of door to appropriate room.

Holster’s head pokes out from the games-room-come-living-room-come-communal-space-(except Erin never uses it). He’s still in his work shirt, sans tie and changed into sweats and his fugly slippers. Lardo feels her shoulders finally starting to relax at the sight of him.

“TGIF, eh, buddy?” he says, in a Scottish accent so mangled Lardo only knows that’s what it’s meant to be through knowing the reference. That and the fact that Holster has greeted her with the same line every Friday since about three weeks into their knowing each other.

“Working hard, hardly working,” she dutifully replies, even though it doesn’t exactly make sense as a response, and kicks off her outside boots. “What are we eating?”

“Pizza.”

“Again? You’re literally all disgusting,” she says, padding down the hall to let Holster wrap her up in his freakishly long arms. “Does one have a vegetable?”

“Like you give a shit.”

It’s true, she doesn’t, but still. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“One has some mushroom,” Holster says, and kisses the top of her head, which she knows is a reach for him but appreciates more than she could ever say. It doesn’t quite fully wash the day away – and she does still need to pee, especially – but it really and truly starts the ball rolling.

-

On pancake day, otherwise known as Saturday, Ransom wakes up to a text.

**Dami** 🤯🧦  
whats up j 👔 im in the area and dropping by this afternoon  
xoxo 😽😻💩😷🤐😵🤯😱🥳🤩

When he checks it turns out it’s already 10:46am, so Ransom thinks he’s pretty justified in saying, “Fuck,” as loud as he likes.

Knowing Dami, when she says ‘afternoon’ is anything from midday on the dot until six in the evening. He either has a little over an hour to scramble Haus 2.0 into something acceptable while freaking the fuck out, or he can give both activities the time and weight they deserve.

Either way, it’s panic time. 

“Bro,” Lardo complains, voice muffled from where she’s jetpacking him so intently her face is fully mashed into his neck. “Pre-noon noises.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Ransom replies, quieter, and after he’s disentangled himself he kisses her cheek for her troubles. Lardo, as a connoisseur, can always sense these kind of anxiety vibes right off the bat. And he guesses he did just say fuck very loudly.

After he’s pissed and brushed his teeth and washed his face, he heads upstairs to the kitchen. And like, it’s not a complete wreck of a room actually. It’s not quite enough, that realisation, to stop panic mode but it’s something. Another something is the something deeply comforting in the already-familiar cooking pancake smell and the sight of Holster jiggling a leg absentmindedly, out of time to whatever lame song he’s singing.

Shitty sits with his chin resting on the table, dick out, sleepshirt on, scrolling through his phone. Erin would be one step away from murder at the sight, and Ransom can see that as almost justified; Shitty’s literal dick and literal bare ass are on the literal chair.

“Light of my life!” he announces at Ransom’s entrance, looking up but without lifting his head from the table, so not moving his jaw, so sounding pretty strange. “Good morning,” – he throws out an arm when Ransom beelines towards the coffee – “I am already sensing some serious vibes from you. What’s happened?”

Ransom’s brain is begging him to make things ten times worse at ten times the speed, but he lets himself be caught, for Shitty to reel him in so Shitty can rest his head a moment in the grey area between Ransom’s stomach and crotch.

The question, though, he dodges. Ransom pushes Shitty’s greasy hair back and feels the stress tone down half a notch more and up a quarter and says, “Dude, you need to shower and change. You’re rank.”

“Such sweet, loving poetry,” Shitty sighs contentedly, almost directly into Ransom’s crotch. “You’re totally right, though. Haven’t slept a wink, brah.”

Ransom looks up and over at Holster, who’s been letting the pancakes burn in favour of watching them with a constipated expression that Ransom knows by now means fondness. At Ransom’s questioning look he nods, tilts his head to the left, and shrugs: yes, Shitty hasn’t slept, no, it’s just the regular work stress and insomnia; the shrug to show they can only trust in Shitty to talk about it at his next therapist’s appointment and try to get back on track.

Then Holster gives a thumbs up and eyebrow raise; Ransom knows that’s for him, checking in that _he’s_ okay, that he’s got his next appointment booked in or whatever, and he wants to dodge that question too. So he does, even if he knows Holtzy isn’t going to let him get away with that long term.

He pushes Shitty’s head to rest on the table again before the way Shitty is nuzzling him gets him too interested, then finally gets himself some coffee and takes a seat. “Pancake me, bro,” he says to Holster’s back.

“I second that motion,” declares Shitty, back to his phone and talking through his teeth.

Holster obligingly pancakes them, dropping an armful of toppings and sauces onto the table with a clunk between handing their plates.

Ransom is midway through drowning his pancakes in enough syrup to hopefully also drown the realisation that his sister is coming potentially within minutes, when Holster says, “Okay, dude, seriously. What is up?”

“Ugh,” Ransom replies around a mouthful of pancake. The stress, which had been winding down and down and into the background in the way it always does stops lurking and starts creeping back in.

“An elaboration on that, maybe,” says Shitty after a pause and a glance shared between him and Holster.

Ransom gives himself the time to chew and swallow before replying. Like, he _knows_ he’s being dramatic, okay? He knows. It is not a big deal, this is his sister he’s talking about and she loves him, and yet. “Dami texted,” he explains. “She said she’ll be dropping by this afternoon.”

Holster winces, Shitty looks confused, and from the doorway Lardo says, “Oh, is that all?”

“Is that all,” Holster scoffs, handing Lardo a plate of pancake with a side of plenty disapproving eyeballing. She takes the plate and a seat in one fluid motion tied together with an eyeroll.

Ransom pokes at his own plate. It’s possible Holster is a more sensitive reactor to Ransom’s stress than the others, courtesy of years of exposure. Lardo’s minimising of the issue is, in some ways, reassuring because it _isn’t_ an issue; except there’s still a part of his brain that is like, dude, it really is.

“It’ll be pretty swawesome to see her,” he admits, because it’s true. He _loves_ Dami, same as he loves Ife and loves his parents. “It’s been like, forever.”

“Then why the anxiety clouds, man?” Shitty asks, his gaze unexpectedly focused and serious for how sleep-deprived he must be. “Obvs you’d know better than me, but she seemed fucking great last I met her. _I’m_ stoked she’s coming.” A pause. “Or did she think we were a bunch of assholes? And not say anything?”

“Yep, she hated all of us,” and, “Well, obviously,” and, “Yeah, that’s definitely it,” say Lardo, Holster, and Ransom simultaneously. Shitty gives them all a middle finger and takes a sip of the coffee he definitely shouldn’t have got a hold of.

“It’ll be her first time here since us,” Ransom starts, after another pause, letting the anxiety-stress-nerves do its thing for a moment or two more while the rest of his rational brain gathers its thoughts. “I don’t want it to be weird, you know? I don’t want her to react like _this_ is weird. I don’t think she would, even, because I know Dami’s like, probably not straight– uh. I don’t know if I should’ve said that? But anyway, she won’t be weird about us, but I don’t know.”

It’s like, not an explanation, but it’s at least enough of one that Ransom thinks the three of them, of all the people in the world, will at least get _some_ of what he’s trying to say.

It’s not even really the exact truth, because it’s not just that. It’ll be the first time Dami’s come to visit since he really started doing this – not going to medical school, not being a doctor just yet, essentially fucking around with some of his favourite people for however long it’ll be. And earning a fuckload of money at the same time, but still.

It’s a weird middle ground to be in, one that Ransom’s mostly made his peace with since it’s been his middle ground for so long. He loves his family, knows they love him, but he’s never been able to shake the prickly, anxious feeling that pops up whenever he has to be open and legit around them.

It’s not something he feels intrinsically, even; God knows Holster alone would love to know less about how horny Ransom is for Alexei Mashkov. It’s just a worry, with his family, who he just wants to make proud. This sense that open-legit-true-Ransom isn’t good enough. Which like, he gets that that shit is fucked up, but he still can’t shake it.

All this is whirling about in his brain when Holster reaches a freakishly long arm out to rest a hand at the nape of Ransom’s neck, a tried-and-tested soother. Shitty rests his foot on Ransom’s thigh under the table in a feat of flexibility for someone who cracks all his joints daily to gross Lardo out. Lardo puts her hand over Ransom’s firmly. The anxiety wind down starts afresh, especially now he’s remembering to like, breathe and stuff, too.

Lardo says, “Rans, I fully get why you think this is a problem, but this is not a problem. Dami loves you, we love you, and if you don’t wanna have some super heavy as shit conversation about the nuances of polyamory or what you’re doing with your future on your fucking day off with basically no warning, then don’t.”

It sounds pretty fucking enticing an alternative. “I don’t want to lie, though.”

“She’s a smart cookie, she can figure things out,” says Holster. “And isn’t she organising taking a gap year right now after before applying for jobs? So I doubt she’ll be judgement central, right?”

Lardo’s head tilt says, _see? Holster gets it_. Aloud, she continues, “Specifically about talking about us: first, it’s not your responsibility, dude, and second, I think I can speak for everyone here when I say I’m not going to get upset. It’s all cool.”

Shitty lovingly almost shoves his heel into Ransom’s balls and adds, with an air of conclusion, “If you want something to do to distract from it, take her to lunch or brunch or some shit. Worked a charm when my mom came, remember?”

Their arguments are kind of compelling, as much as the anxiety part of Ransom’s brain would like them not to be. “Your mom is really nice, though,” he says, which he knows is a weak rebuttal even as it comes out. Dami is like, _really_ nice. She’s his sister.

“Bro,” says Holster, disappointed.

Lardo shakes her head. “Come on, dipshit, you know what we’re gonna say to that.”

“Also?” Shitty continues, before Ransom can try and think of a new angle of resistance. “Lunch would be a solution if you don’t want her seeing the absolute horror story that is the bathroom soap scum sitch. Which like, I mean, while I disagree that it’s _that_ bad? I can supes sense you worrying about that.”

“Chill, all right?” Lardo says, and nudges Ransom’s phone towards him. “Just text her and establish whatever you want to do now. It’ll help a bunch.”

Ransom breathes out, takes a bite of pancake, grounds himself with where his favourite people are all making an effort to ground him, and unlocks his phone, thinking what to say. There’s an amazing new Lebanese place opened up a few blocks from his and Holster’s office; they haven’t had the chance to try it yet, and Dami has always had a soft spot for falafel.

-

On Sunday, Holster wakes up horny as all fuck.

Saturday had been weird, with Ransom acting weird and all of them responding to it, even though they’d successfully got Rans way more chilled by the time his sister actually arrived. When he and Dami come back from lunch to a clean(ish) Haus – thanks to the mad scramble of Holster and Lardo, while Shitty vanished to power nap to the max – he’d seemed actually relaxed.

Probably thanks also to, as Ransom later reported, a few excited, pointed questions and high fives from Dami over falafel, his responses to which seemed to satisfy her curiosity without making him hurl at like, the fear of being known, or whatever.

“My brother’s a babe, huh?” she’d said, post-lunch, leaning against the kitchen counter where she’d successfully trapped Holster under the guise of getting drinks for everyone.

“Absolutely,” Holster had agreed.

“Seconded!” Shitty shouted from the game room, because sound carried in the Haus like nobody’s business.

“Thirded!” joined Lardo, overlapped by Ransom’s indignant-yet-pleased, “ _Dami_!”

Erin had skulked into the kitchen and given the two of them dirty looks, before realising Dami wasn’t someone she shared a residence with and wished death upon, at which point she had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed and nod hello.

It had been a tiring day, basically, more than anything. And when Holster gets tired he gets horny, so. Figures.

It also figures because, as a result of all the weirdness, they’d all piled into one bed last night. Four people, two of whom are large people at that, is too many for a simple double bed. So at present Holster is pressed up against and all warm between his boyfriends and girlfriend and like, he’s not _ancient_ yet. What’s a guy to do? Not react?

His dick is already pressing up against Ransom’s lower back, at least 85% of the way to hard and more so when Rans starts to wake up in response to the way Holster can’t help rolling his hips just a little. Holster knows Lardo must be awake already for her to be stroking the length of his arm like that, like she _knows_ ; Shitty is absolutely already awake, squished between him and Lardo, because he’s been biting at Holster’s earlobe for the last minute solid.

Holster would be okay just rubbing off quick and simple on mornings where he wakes up like this, if he was just by himself, but clearly the others have plans. And like, it’s a Sunday. Day of rest or whatever the fuck Christianity deems it, and Holster will take their wrong day of rest just for today. Like, maybe having sex with three people isn’t _rest_ , but it’s rest _ful_. For the soul. And for his dick, in a long-term sense.

“Okay, stop fucking with me,” he says to the bed at large. “Let’s actually do this. Rans, wake up, we’re boning!”

-

On Monday morning, otherwise known as the start of another ballsack of a week, Shitty is pretty sure he’s the only one in the house past ten in the morning. Lards has the early shift (after the late shift the evening before, which Shitty thinks is bullshit of the highest order but like, he knows Lardo knows this) and Rans and Holster are always gone at the crack of dawn to beat the hellscape that is commuting. He hasn’t heard a peep from Erin downstairs.

He has class later, and in a chat he and a three of their five-strong group project group are sluggishly figuring out a time to meet, but other than that his morning and early afternoon stretch before him uninterrupted. Apart from like, the omnipresent readings he needs to do for classes, but that stress is almost background noise to him at this point. Almost.

For a bit after he’s eaten and showered, he fucks about on the internet, checking on a few of his favourite arguing-with-assholes threads. Clearly, they’ve all had too-busy weekends to be assholes online for Shitty’s entertainment, because it’s weak pickings, and before long he’s wandering around the Haus actually _tidying_. Not to avoid his readings, obviously. Just to be a good housemate and boyfriend.

He picks up like, six gross undies and a bra he’s unsure of from the floors of the bedrooms, does the dishes, and sweeps up a small mountain of dust and shit from the floors of the whole Haus (minus carpeted floor, minus Erin’s room). Wild how much can gather in the space of a weekend; he and Holster had absolutely cleaned the Thursday just gone. Maybe the one before.

He texts this cleaning news to Jack since he thinks he’d get a kick out of it, and because it’s been too long since he’s seen that beautiful face he adds, _skype me later beloved! need to see that rotund ass again, been 2 long_

Fifteen minutes later, Jack replies _haha nice one_ , followed by _ok Shits._ Shitty reads over the five words with fondness a few times, then passes the Skyping news over to the Haus 2.0 chat minus Erin, which Shitty had aptly and wisely titled **Sexxxyyy Haus 2.0 SQUAD** 👽💖💖👅💓🍕 

**Holster** **🤓🤡🥛**  
ok im staying at the office late lol

**Ransom** 🤑🍣📉  
he means we will speed home as fast as possible!!! 😘

And it must be that Lardo is on her break, because it’s barely ten minutes later when the chat pings again.

**Lardo** **🐣💩👀**  
nice!

Shitty, who has been heart-reacting to every single one of these messages, is momentarily confused when he gets another message from Lardo, sans-emojis, before realising it’s outside the group chat.

**Lardo**  
shits I finish at 3:30, will u be free to grocery shop w me it is our turn

**Shitty**  
u mean to say we aren’t having pizza today??????????

**Lardo**  
😒

**Shitty**  
love u  
and yes, I was meant to be in group project group then but ill make them move it😈

**Lardo**  
bro. shitty omg  
go to class  
shits seriously, i can get a grocery list from the gc and do it myself

**Shitty**  
but i love to grocery shop with u

**Lardo**  
🥺  
fine  
lmaooo they must hate u  
see u in a few hrs, the proper supermarket not the shit one round the corner

**Shitty**  
but of course

Shitty puts his phone away then, because if he’s going to be that asshole and move the group project meeting back a bit, he really does need to not be a _complete_ shithead and actually be prepared for the new meeting time. Also because he needs to do a fuckton of reading anyway.

But he’s feeling fond, extra fond, so he picks up his phone one last time to send a few dozen heart emojis into the Sexy Haus groupchat anyway; the others are all too busy to see it, the way Shitty should be too busy to send them, getting back into the rhythm of another week, but they’ll be there for them all to enjoy later.


End file.
